The Form of a Cyclist

His legs were pedaling hard and his heart was beating fast,He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past,Down the hill he goes, wind whipped his hair, a new style with each draft.He broke his brakes long ago; He cut the cable and ripped off the pads.

He cried songs of joy and love as the world became a blur,He learned to balance his weight; He finally learned to let go,He would return the car's embrace, but the horn was all he heard.He learned to lie to everyone; His grin was just for show.

He thought he heard church bells ring as he felt the rising lightness, His inner demon took control; He said it was the form of a cyclist.

4
favs

391 views
8 comments

130 words
All rights reserved.

Author's Note

Small poem off the top of my head. I didn't do what I set to do, but I said what I wanted to say.